


You Are My Master

by bibliolatry



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dom/sub, F/M, M/M, Masters, Shifters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 19:04:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1277491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bibliolatry/pseuds/bibliolatry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a shifter. When injured in battle, he must ingest spirit energy to heal his wounds. When an insufficient amount of spirit energy is ingested, the wounds leave scars (hence the shoulder wound). He’s sent home from Afghanistan because his previous Master was KIA and he refused to ingest spirit energy from someone other than his Master. His depression sends him on a “good-bye” trek across London where he runs into Mike Stamford, a shifter he attended university with. Mike introduces him to Sherlock, a Master that has refused to accept another shifter since he lost Victor Trevor nearly a decade ago. With broken hearts and no intentions of accepting each other on such an intimate level, the two decide to become flat mates. When a case leaves John on the brink of life, Sherlock steps up to the plate and a new bond is formed between the two. Can John accept this forced bond or will he spiral into the darkness that threatens to consume him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [benaddictedtosherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/benaddictedtosherlock/gifts).



> “I am not a graceful person. I am not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2AM, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don’t belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn’t happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don’t see the lightening, but you hear the echoes.”  
> ~ Anna Peters

In the world, there are two levels of beings. A Shifter, or fighter, leads a grueling life. Every second of every day is devoted to serving his Master. The Shifter fights, cleans, feeds, and washes his Master. His sole reason for being is to serve his Master. The Master, in return, provides the Shifter with shelter and health. You see, a Shifter’s main source of nutrition is Spirit Energy. The best way to gain Spirit Energy is in an intimate setting with the Shifter’s Master. For that reason alone, a Master and his Shifter are raised as close together as possible.

John loved his Master. Bill Murray was a kind and gentle soul. Though Master Murray was five years older than John, the bonding agreement had been made with his parents when his older sister, Harriet, was bonded with Master Murray’s cousin, Master Clara Oswald. John’s mum had still been pregnant with him at the time. 

When John turned five and Master Murray ten, the beginning of the bonding was started. John shook as he held out his hand to his father and cried out when the ritual knife was dragged across his open palm, a line of red seeping through the thin cut. Master Murray held his hand out to his own father and received the same cut. The boys placed their hands together, palms facing each other and the blood sharing was completed. They spent every day together after that, rather than seeing each other three times a week.

Throughout the years, the boys grew closer. By the time John was in year ten and Master Murray had finished his final year of sixth form, the boys had grown to love each other in a romantic sense as well. Their parents were ecstatic and it wasn’t unusual for John to spend several nights a week with Master Murray in his one bedroom apartment. When John started sixth form, his parents allowed him to move in with Master Murray. On the day he graduated sixth form, Master Murray proposed. 

It wasn’t unusual for a Shifter to marry his or her Master, but a seven year engagement was very strange. Master Murray, however, wanted to serve his country and John supported every decision he made. Master Murray was just as supportive of John’s decisions and while he went off to train as a grunt, he sent John off to the most prestigious Shifter’s Medical University in England, St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. Master Murray accepted a non-deployable contract until his Shifter finished his training and was there when John walked across the stage to receive his diploma, waiting for his love with a large bundle of roses. John smiled up at his Master, pride and happiness shining in his eyes.

They spent twelve years in service and during their final deployment, while they planned the wedding they’d have when they returned to England, the convoy they were riding with was attacked. While trying to save one of the lower enlisted, John was shot in the shoulder. The pain was intense and he cried out for his Master, not knowing that thirty-seven feet away, Sergeant Bill Murray lay in a pool of his own blood.

When John regained consciousness, the medics that were caring for him explained that Master Murray had taken a bullet through the left side of his chest cavity and directly in his heart. He’d been attempting to reach his Shifter at the time. John blamed himself, of course, and the depression that set in lead to a refusal to accept any Spirit Energy offered by the Medical Master’s kept on staff for the quick healing of unclaimed Shifters. John continued to get worse, a harsh fever breaking out. At a loss for what to do, Colonel Sebastian, the Surgeon General for that particular medical office and a Master himself, ordered them to sedate John and provided him with Spirit Energy himself. It was too late to prevent scarring, but John would live. 

Three months after that, John found himself stepping off a plane into Heathrow. His parent waited for him just on the other side of the security check point. He stood there staring at them with a heartbroken expression. He’d lost his Master, his love and sole reason for living, and now he’d lost his military career. As far as he could see, there was no reason for existing. 

Therapy was pointless. John sat there on the couch, the handle of his cane clutched in one hand and the fingers of the other tapping against his knee. He stared at his therapist, Ella Thompson, with a blank expression.

“Have you considered my advice at our last meeting?”

“I have. Started up a blog.”

“Have you written anything?”

“You’ve seen it. I know you have.”

Ella gave him a slight smile before writing something in his file. 

“You just wrote ‘still has trust issues’,” he remarked and she glanced up at him from under her eyelashes.

“And you are reading what I’m writing upside down,” she replied. “John, I want you to try writing in your blog. I don’t care if you only write what you had for breakfast, you need to at least try. It will help.”

“Nothing happens to me.”

Afterwards, John decided to walk home. As he passed through a park, a man he hasn’t seen since his days at St. Bart’s called out to him. John really hadn’t been in the mood to play ‘catch up’ especially when Mike asks about Master Murray. His grip on his cane tightened as he explains what happened. 

“Staying in London then?” Mike asked as they sat on a bench sipping coffee.

“Can’t afford it.”

“How about a flat share?”

“Who’d want me as a flat mate?”

Mike laughed and John shot him a confused look. “You’re the second person that’s said that to me today.”

“Who was the first?”


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock wanted to be left alone. That’s why he’d made his way to St. Bart’s. Of course, there was a case he needed to do an experiment or two for, but that just gave him the excuse he needed. The little, mousy shifter pathologist that allowed him access to the morgue would come in handy today.

“How fresh?” he asked her as he eyed the corpse. Depending on how long ago the old man had died, Sherlock could kill two birds with one stone; he’d be able to get out all his anger and test a hypothesis.

“Just in. Sixty-seven, natural causes. He used to work here. I knew him. He was nice,” she replied.

“Perfect. I’ll start with the riding crop.”

He beat the corpse over and over with several different instruments. It was invigorating and cathartic all at once. It also helped to clear his mind of thoughts of Victor. Eight years he’d been without his Shifter and every day was just as painful as they day before. No one could ever replace Victor Trevor.

It was Sherlock’s fault, really. He was the one that picked up that nasty drug habit. He was the one that got mixed in with the wrong crowd. If he hadn’t brought Victor along to that meet-up, perhaps he’d still have his beautiful boy with him. 

“I need to know what bruises form in the next twenty minutes. A man’s alibi depends on it. Text me,” he said before leaving the morgue and heading towards the lab.

He was just finishing running some tests on a paint sample when Mike Stamford entered with a man with a cane. He glanced at them briefly before requesting the use of Mike’s mobile. To his surprise, the stranger offers his up and Sherlock learns his name is John Watson.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

John glanced briefly at Mike before he turned back to Sherlock. Sherlock continued tapping away at the mobile as he waited for John’s answer. “Afghanistan. How’d you know…?” he’s interrupted by Molly entering the lab with a cup of coffee.

“Ah, Molly. Coffee,” he gave her a quick, fake smile as he handed the mobile back to John and accepted the cup. He turned back to the microscope he’d been using. “How do you feel about the violin?”

“Sorry?” John asked once he realized Sherlock had been talking to him.

“I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flat mates should know the worst about each other.”

He realized as he left the lab that the strange burst of energy he felt as he spoke with John was excitement. There was certainly something different about this John Watson character. He couldn’t wait to discover more.

“Brother,” Sherlock sighed as he came to a stop in front of Mycroft just outside of St. Bart’s. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You know why I’m here, Sherlock. It’s that time of year again. How are you?”

“As you can see, I’m doing quite well. I’d thank you to leave me alone and mind your own.”

“Yes, something does seem a bit different about you today. Anything interesting happen lately?”

“Wouldn’t you know if it had? You and I both know you have me under constant surveillance.”

“Yes, but unfortunately, I cannot justify the seizure of St. Bartholomew’s security feed just to watch over my younger brother.”

Sherlock smirked because he knew if Mycroft truly wanted to, he could justify anything and everything he did. “I’ll be moving out tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’ve found a flat and a flat mate. He’ll be moving in tomorrow.”

“You say that as though Dr. Watson has already made his decision,” both men watched as a little further down the walk John exited the hospital and headed in the opposite direction of them.

“He is as intrigued by me as I am by him.”

“Hmm?” Mycroft turned back to his brother. “This is new. You, intrigued by someone. What is it about him?”

“I’ll tell you as soon as I figure it out. I’m lacking data at the moment.”

“Very well. I shall see you later today. Would you like help moving your things?”

“Yes, that would be appreciated.”

“Done.”

Sherlock watched as Mycroft returned to the non-descript black car waiting behind him. He was positive John would agree to being his flat mate, even if he wasn’t quite sure why as of yet. As the car pulled away from the curb and into traffic, Sherlock hailed a cab. He figured he’d stop by Mrs. Hudson and make sure the flat truly was still available. Wouldn’t do to have the address he’d given John turn out to be a mistake.

“Sherlock! Oh it’s lovely to see you.”

“Mrs. Hudson. How are you?”

“I’m well, Sherlock. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Yes, I was wondering if the flat upstairs was still available.”

“Of course, dear. It could use a bit of sprucing up, but it is move-in ready other than. Have you found a flat mate, dear? I know a few people that may do.”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I’ve met someone recently who’s looking for a place as well. He’ll be stopping by tomorrow to have a look at it. Mycroft will be sending over my things later today. For now, I really need to get to New Scotland Yard. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Alright, Sherlock. You take care of yourself, now. You really should consider getting yourself another Shifter. It’s far too dangerous without one. If I were thirty years younger, I’d offer my own services, but, you see, I’ve got a hip…”

“Yes, yes, Mrs. Hudson. I’m well informed of your hip. Why don’t you go enjoy a cup of tea and watch some afternoon telly?”

Sherlock exited the flat before she could reply and hailed yet another cab. At this rate he’d be out of pocket money before he even got a chance to greet John outside 221 Baker St the next day. He rolled his eyes as his unwarranted anticipation. Why should he be eager to see a Shifter again after one meeting? It wasn’t as though he’d be bonding with the bloke. Besides, John had recently lost his Master as well. He clearly wasn’t ready to move on from the trauma, if his psychosomatic limp was anything to go by. He really should fire that dreadful therapist, though.


	3. Chapter 3

Three months into the flat share found John and Sherlock sitting across from each other in their respective chairs. John’s eyes skimmed over a newspaper, though he really didn’t take anything in, as Sherlock strummed on his violin staring blankly at the wall above John’s head. Mrs. Hudson knocked and entered bearing a tray of tea and Sherlock’s favorite cheese and chives scones fresh from the oven. He immediately perked up and set the violin to the side.

“Just a bit of an afternoon snack, boys. Won’t happen again. I’m not your housekeeper,” she warned as she made her way back to the door.

When she’d left, John looked up at Sherlock over the top of the paper. “Does she realize she says that every time?”

Sherlock shrugged as he chewed the scone. As soon as he swallowed, he opened his mouth to reply. “I don’t think she does and I, for one, do not plan to inform her. I couldn’t live without these scones.”

John chuckled as he set his paper to the side and reached forward for the cup of tea prepared especially for him. He brought it to his lips and blew across the surface gently before taking a sip. When he looked up again, Sherlock was staring at him. He raised an eyebrow, but let it slide. 

“Have we got anything on today?” he asked as he set his tea cup down and reached for a scone. He swatted Sherlock’s hands away as the other man attempted to take all the scones for himself. “Come on, Sherlock. Can’t I have just one?”

Sherlock huffed and held out a single scone for John who beamed at him in return. “I texted Lestrade earlier but still haven’t gotten a reply.”

John bit into the scone, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and a low moan erupting as the buttery, cheesy goodness burst over his taste buds. Sherlock stared at him with wide eyes, shifting his gaze to the plate when John opened his eyes to look back at him. “Try again?” he asked as he took another bite. 

Sherlock held out another scone when John finished the first. It was extremely rare for him to offer more than the one and John bit his tongue when the urge to question the action came upon him. “I’ll text him again in a bit. I want to finish my scones first.”

John nodded as he bit into his second scone. He watched as Sherlock’s eyes shifted around the room, lingering over him before jerking away again. It had been happening more frequently, but John knew neither of them were interested in anything more than what they currently shared.

The front door of 221 opened and Sherlock rolled his eyes. John recognized the gait ascending the stairs and very nearly mimicked Sherlock. Mycroft entered without knocking, his eyes trailing over Sherlock and John before settling on the plate holding a single scone. He raised a brow at the two and John leaned forward to snatch it from the plate. Sherlock’d had the same idea and they wound up giggling and wrestling on the floor between their chairs over who would eat the last scone.

“For goodness sake, Sherlock. Act with some decorum. You’re not a child.”

John huffed out a laugh. He lay flat on his back with Sherlock straddling his waist, just above his pelvic bone, with his knees wedged into John’s sides. John stared up at his flat mates’ profile as he glared at his brother. The man was gorgeous, no doubt about that; but John would never be able to even consider bonding with another Master. He was very content with the way they worked. John provided Sherlock with protection, meals and a clean home and, in return, Sherlock provided John with shelter and adventure. It was the perfect life, as far as John was concerned. He even got to look at a gorgeous creature every day.

“John?” John shook his head and looked up at Sherlock who was now standing over him with an arm stretched out. “Did you knock your head?”

“No,” John shook his head and reached up for Sherlock’s hand. “Just thinking.”

“Oh. Good,” John gave Sherlock a curious glance as he turned and picked up his tea cup. The liquid was just going on being too cool so he downed it as he listened to Sherlock rant about his brother and ridiculous cases that aren’t even worth getting out of his pajamas. “Can you believe the nerve of that prick? A missing persons case for a groom? If I were forced into a marriage I had no interest in I’d fake my own death as well and do a hell of a lot better job at it.”

“Could be interesting. Better than sitting around here watching crap telly and getting fat on scones.”

“Speak for yourself. I could eat three dozen and not gain a pound.”

“Damn lucky, that,” John smiled up at Sherlock as he reached for his coat. “So, are we going?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Oh, very well. If you insist. It’s the least I can do.”

“For what?”

“Well,” Sherlock paused in wrapping his scarf around his neck and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. “You’re right. I leave it at you owe me.”

John laughed as they stepped out the door. “Right. Let’s just get where we’re needed. I’m terribly bored and that may end up worse than you shooting holes in the wall.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and let out a huff that was half annoyance and half amusement. He raised his hand and hailed a cab. When it stopped, John stepped forward and opened the door, ushering Sherlock into the car and then climbing in after him. They sat side by side, close enough for their elbows to brush but nothing else. Sherlock gave the driver an address and the ride was a silent affair.

“Ritzy place,” John spoke as he stepped from the cab and held the door open for Sherlock. Sherlock nodded and started towards the front door of the three story home. John reached into the front window of the cab to pay the fare and jogged to catch up with him. “Maybe he was being forced into a marriage outside of his bonding?”

Sherlock stopped short, ignoring John’s body bumping off his back as he turned to look down at the smaller man. “That’s remarkably clever.”

“Gee, thanks,” John rolled his eyes and stepped forward to knock on the door.

The woman that opened the door was gorgeous. Her hair was pulled back, a few honey colored ringlets falling to the side of her face and her eyes were a striking shade of green. Her figure was trim, but decently endowed and she stood just an inch or two shorter than John. He stared at her a moment before Sherlock cleared his throat, startling him. He stepped to the side as Sherlock stepped forward and introduced himself.

“Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Your case was referred to me. How can I be of assistance?”

The woman smiled as she held out a hand to shake. Her smile dimmed as Sherlock stared at the hand with his clasped firmly behind his back. “Elizabeth Clarence. Please, come in.”

She stepped back from the door and John entered first, his military training having the area cleared by his third step. He turned and gestured for Sherlock to enter as well, giving a small smile. They followed Elizabeth down a wide hallway and into an extravagantly decorated sitting room. John’s eyes roamed the room as he stood in the doorway. When he deemed the room safe, he stepped forward and allowed Sherlock to take over the lead.

“Please, have a seat. I wasn’t aware you were a pair. You don’t act like normal Master and Shifter.”

“That’s not really your concern,” Sherlock stated as he tested the full length cushion on the couch. He sat and turned his full attention to Elizabeth. “Now, tell me everything you know.”

John stood behind the couch to Sherlock’s right and listened attentively as Elizabeth told her story. Her fiancé, Jonas Ryder, had disappeared a week before their wedding date. A body appeared three days later, nearly impossible to identify. With advances in forensics, they were able to identify the body as Richard Leighton, Jonas’ best man. Jonas hadn’t been seen since his disappearance and the appearance of the body left no hints to where he may have gone.

“Dull,” Sherlock breathed out and John reached forward to pop his shoulder none-to-gently. He turned and glared over his shoulder at John before turning back to Elizabeth. “Where was the last place Jonas was seen?”

“Richard had planned his stag weekend. They were supposed to leave the night he disappeared. The only reason I know he disappeared that night is because he was supposed to meet me for dinner before they left. He never showed and hasn’t answered a call since.”

Sherlock nodded and stood from the couch. “I’ll look into it and get back to you with what I find. John?”

The men left the miniature mansion and made their way back to the road. Sherlock hailed another cab as they waited in silence. John knew not to speak until spoken to at this point because Sherlock would be ingesting the information and cataloguing it in his mind palace according to its level of importance. As the cab pulled to the curb and John reached forward to open the door, Sherlock’s hand shot out to stop him. He turned back to the house and studied it for a moment, ignoring the honking horn behind him.

“Ah!” he exclaimed as he pulled his phone from his pocket. “That was far too easy.”

“Care to inform those of us who don’t have minds that run a billion miles per second?”

Sherlock chuckled as he tapped away at his phone. He shoved it back into his pocket and turned back to John expectantly. John rolled his eyes and opened the door, stepping back to allow Sherlock to enter before him. As John moved to enter the cab, it shot down the road, leaving a dumbfounded John staring after it with his arm still stretched out to where the door had been.


	4. Chapter 4

John moved quickly, his phone out of his pocket and to his ear within moments. Sherlock had just been taken in broad daylight right in front of him. He was pissed. He barked the cabs number into the phone at Lestrade then hung up. He’d need to have someone pick up a change of clothes for him, but he didn’t have the time or a place to strip in order to avoid destroying his clothing. The transformation was swift and where a sandy-blonde haired late thirties man had been before now stood a sleek, well-toned golden furred dog. It was larger than a wolf and of slender build. Its features were sharp and pointed, its tail long with fur flowing from its length. It truly was a regal creature. It sniffed the air, picking up on Sherlock’s scent immediately. A low, rumbling growl left its throat and it took off at a sprint, following the scent it had memorized over their time together.

The trail led to a shipping yard that appeared to be closed for business. The creature sniffed the air, closing in on Sherlock’s scent. The creature paused just outside the door, its ears perked as it listened to the conversation taking place inside the building.

“You don’t know how much trouble you’re in,” Sherlock’s voice floated out to the creature who let out a barely audible growl. “He will come for me and when he does, I won’t be able to stop him. You see, we’re not bonded. I have no control over him.”

“If you’re not bonded, what makes you think he’ll come for you?”

Sherlock’s laugh rang out, echoing off the walls of the building. “John is my friend. John would come for me; therefore, Dareois will come for me. We may be unbonded, but Dareois recognizes me as his master just as much as his human counterpart does. You have just unleashed a world of shit upon yourself.”

Dareois’ growl increased in volume and Sherlock’s laughter rang out again. “I warned you.”

Dareois could hear the man moving about inside the building, searching for the whereabouts of the vicious noise. As he neared the door, Dareois’ growling ceased and his upper body lowered in preparation for his attack. There was no telling how far into the room Sherlock was nor whether or not the man would harm him in order to stop Dareois’ advance. As the door was slowly pulled further open, Dareois’ rumbling growl increased again and as soon as he saw flesh, he attacked. 

He was unprepared for the searing heat that pierced his left haunch as he passed through the open door. He let out a loud yip of pain and turned on the man. He latched onto the man’s jaw, doing his best to ignore the throbbing in his side as he took down the threat to his Master. It took nothing more than a swift, forceful jerk of his head to snap the man’s neck and the threat was gone. Dareois turned to Sherlock who held his bound hands out to the creature.

“John would work better for this part, Dareois.”

The creature shook its massive head and turned its body, letting out whimpers of pain as his side throbbed. Sherlock’s gasp was loud in the otherwise silent building. In the crease where leg met torso rested a rusty, jagged piece of metal. Blood seeped from the wound as Dareois slowly dropped his body to the ground. Sherlock wiggled in the chair until he’d managed to maneuver it closer to Dareois. He tilted it until it dropped him with a pain filled grunt beside the body of his beast.

“Dare?” he croaked. “Dare, is there anything I can do?”

Dareois let out a pitiful howl as he lifted his head and nuzzled into Sherlock’s outstretched hands. 

“Right. Yes, I’ll take care of you. You’ve done so much for me. Just…” Sherlock paused and looked around for something to break through his bonds. “I need to get out of this mess.”

Sirens sounded in the background and Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. Shortly after they started, Lestrade burst into the building followed by Donovan and the rest of his team. Lestrade got to work on setting Sherlock free as Donovan made her way to the beast.

“The freak has a shifter? Who is it? One of your homeless creeps?” Donovan’s snide remark had Sherlock bolting up and across to the room to where she stood over the whimpering Dareois.

“I’ll thank you to keep your uninformed, snide remarks to yourself, SGT Donovan. Dareois is not a ‘homeless creep’, as you say. Now get out of my way so I can help him.”

Sherlock dropped to his knees, throwing a quick thank you over his shoulder as he accepted the triple layered medical gloves from Lestrade. He carefully removed the metal object from Dareois’ side, hushing and soothing the creature as he worked. 

“I’m so sorry, Dareois. I don’t want to have to force this on you, but I can’t lose you,” he whispered to his beast as he slit the metal across his hand. He placed his bleeding hand onto the wound, starting the bonding process.

“Christ, you’re not even bonded?” Donovan’s voice rang out and Lestrade barked at her to shut up. He kept it to himself that the ‘homeless creep’ was, in fact, the good doctor that she admired so much. That was between Sherlock and John. He prayed John wouldn’t be too angry with Sherlock for forcing a bond on him while he was shifted.

“There,” Sherlock breathed when he felt the seal complete. “Now, just let me,” he pressed his face into the neck of the creature, placing gentle kisses against the fur and skin there. “Come on, Dare. You can do this. Come on.” He caressed the creatures’ fur as he continued to place kisses along his neck and up onto his face and muzzle. Dareois let out one low whine before laying still. When Sherlock pulled back, the wound was closed and he let out a sigh of relief. “Can I get someone to help me get him home? He doesn’t have any clothes.”

“I’ll take you,” Lestrade stepped forward and helped Sherlock to lift Dareois’ unconscious form. They slowly made their way out of the building and towards Lestrade’s unmarked car. “I’ll get you boys home, you tend to John when he comes to.”

Sherlock’s head jerked up and he stared at Lestrade with wide eyes. “What?”

“Oh, come on, Sherlock. You can’t expect me to not recognize him. His fur is the same shade as John’s hair and he came for you. That’s a John move right there. Bonded or not, he’d come for you. Through hell or high water. That man cares for you, and this beast…”

“Dareois,” Sherlock interjected, “is not a beast. He is a beautiful, magnificent and loyal creature.”

Lestrade nodded. “Dareois. He came for you. I just hope John understands why the bond was forced.”

“He will. I’m sure of it. Dareois wouldn’t have allowed me to do it otherwise.”

Lestrade nodded as a PC opened the back door of the car. They gently maneuvered the beast into it, tail first so that his long, lean form wouldn’t leave it hanging out to get smashed by the door. Sherlock wiggled his way onto the seat under Dareois head and rested it in his lap.

By the time Lestrade and Sherlock had made it up the seventeen steps to apartment B they were gasping for breath. Dareois may have been slender, but he was well-toned and the muscle he’d built weighed more than some overweight shifters.

“My bed. I’m not carrying him up more stairs to get him to John’s. He’ll understand.”

Lestrade nodded and shifted Dareois so that he could tighten his grip. They continued on their way through the flat to Sherlock’s room. He kicked the door open and they carefully shifted Dareois through the doorway and onto the bed. Sherlock covered him with the thick, navy quilt that rested at the foot of his bed before he turned and ushered Lestrade out of his room and into the kitchen. 

“I’ll give you my statement in the morning, Lestrade. I need to tend to Dareois right now.”

“Let me know how he is?” Lestrade asked and let himself out when Sherlock nodded.

“John,” Sherlock breathed out as he turned and stared at his open bedroom door. “Please come back soon.”

Forty-seven hours Sherlock remained in the flat. He moved between the kitchen, sitting room and his bedroom, with the occasional loo trip in the mix. Lestrade had come and gone with a signed statement from Sherlock and a promise to return to check on Dareois/John’s condition. Mycroft had sent over the personal physician of his own shifter. Anthea, or Roxana as her shifted form was called, was provided with the best of the best; and, in turn, Mycroft provided his brother with the same. Dr. Brogan was the best Shifter physician available with training of the topmost quality in both Shifter and human health. He gave Dareois a quick check up and announced that Sherlock’s actions had allowed him to heal with no lingering damage to the surrounding muscle, nerves and tissues.

Sherlock knew who had entered the flat before they’d made it into his line of sight. “Thank you,” his voice remained low as he looked on at the sleeping form of Dareois.

“You’ve bonded,” Mycroft kept his voice low as well, not wishing to disturb either his brother or the Shifter.

“I had no other choice. He was losing too much blood.”

“It was merely an observation, Sherlock. No need to get defensive. If I had to choose another Shifter for you to bond with, I couldn’t have picked a better one that this.”

Sherlock turned to look at his brother. He allowed his eyes to trail over Mycroft’s form. He looked exhausted, as though he were feeling every emotion than ran through Sherlock as his friend rested and finished the healing process.

“What is it about him?” Mycroft asked, catching Sherlock’s eye. “Have you figured it out?”

“John is selcouth,” Sherlock replied. 

Mycroft nodded his understanding. “I only hope you knew what you were doing when you forced the bond.”

“Everyone says that. That I’ve forced this bond onto him. Dareois wouldn’t have allowed a bond to be forced. If he hadn’t accepted, he would have attacked me regardless of his health. That is something no one seems to understand.”

Mycroft looked between his brother and Shifter for a moment. “Is there more here than flat mates, brother?”

“John and I share an appetence; nothing more,” Sherlock sighed as he turned from Mycroft.

“Very well,” Mycroft turned towards the door. “You’ll call me when he awakens? I would like to speak with John.”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied to his brothers retreating form. “Everyone wants to speak with John. Does no one care what his wishes will be when he finally awakens? His wishes come first.”

“Whose?” Sherlock jerked around and a large grin spread across his face as John pulled the quilt further over his bare body. “Can I have some clothes, please?”

“Of course, John. Just a moment,” Sherlock rushed from the room and John could hear his feet pounding on the stairs as he ascended and then descended and returned with a pile of clothes in his hands. “You’ll dress for comfort, John. I’ll hear nothing more on the matter.”

John nodded as he accepted the clothes and looked expectantly at Sherlock. Sherlock rolled his eyes and exited the room, pulling the door partly closed behind him. He stood in the hall, his entire body vibrating with the need to return to John’s side.

“Sherlock?” John called and the man rushed into the room, his eyes wide and worried before he took in John’s clothed form rested against the headboard of his bed. “How long was I out?”

Sherlock plucked his phone from the nightstand and looked at the time. “Forty-seven hours, twenty-two minutes,” he replied as he placed his phone back on the stand. “How are you feeling? Would you like something to eat?”

John’s stomach let loose a loud grumble and he sent Sherlock a sheepish smile as he nodded. Sherlock laughed as he left the room and headed for the kitchen. Between Anthea and Mrs. Hudson, there was plenty of food in the flat and he removed a tray of lasagna from the freezer, turning to start the oven and set the tray on the counter before returning to the bedroom.

“Come, let’s get you to the living room while the oven heats. Lasagna sound good?”

“Sounds divine,” John replied as he accepted Sherlock’s hand to help him to his feet. “What happened while I was out?”

Sherlock froze, his eyes dropping to the floor as John turned to look at him. 

“Sherlock?”

“John, I’m sorry.”

“What? What happened, Sherlock?”

“I had to,” Sherlock started. He looked up at John, his eyes pleading for understanding. “I had no choice. You were bleeding too much and I couldn’t lose you. I can’t lose you, John. I had to.”

“Had to what, Sherlock?”

“I started the bonding,” Sherlock breathed, his eyes falling to the floor once more.

“Oh,” John allowed as his body fell into his chair. He stared at Sherlock with wide eyes as comprehension dawned. “Oh.”


	5. Chapter 5

The most infuriating thing in the world is receiving the silent treatment from John Watson. Sherlock had learned this the hard way when he first aggravated the doctor. The man didn’t speak to him for two full days until Sherlock finally bit the bullet and admitted that he’d been wrong in acting to rashly. He’d merely punched an idiot Master for attempting to seduce John into a bond. But then, Sherlock really didn’t have the right to act as though he were courting John for a bonding. They were flat mates; that’s all their relationship consisted of.

Now, Sherlock had been receiving the silent treatment from John for four days. He’d bonded with the sandy haired man without his consent. While Sherlock knew Dareois had accepted the bonding (often when John would let him out, he’d make his way to Sherlock’s side and curl up with him), John was his own being and made his own decisions. Sherlock hoped that if he rode out this punishment that he’d John would accept him in the end.

“I need to update the blog. Want to fill me in on what happened with that missing groom case?”

Sherlock looked up at John from where he was stretched across the couch. He gave a soft smile as he pulled his body up into a sitting position. His hands immediately steepled in front of his mouth, the tips of his fingers pressing into his bottom lip as he considered how to explain the simple, dull case that had started the whole mess.

“Well, for one, the groom is now dead,” Sherlock began and John’s head snapped up to stare at him with wide eyes. “Yes, he was the one to kidnap me. He was trying to keep me from telling the real story behind his faked death. The fiancée was in on it, by the way. She knew he didn’t want to marry anyone but his Shifter. Their bond was strong. So, they faked his death. Richard volunteered to provide a body. He’d lost his Shifter about a year ago and had been depressed since. Jonas planned to leave the country with his Shifter, Alana, and Elizabeth was covering their escape and providing for them financially until they were settled in America. I realized what had really happened when I looked back at the house and noticed movement behind one of the curtains. Alana was there, but she wasn’t watching us. She was watching the cab.”

John typed as fast as he could as Sherlock told the story and when he was finished, he turned the laptop to allow Sherlock to read over it. The final sentence had Sherlock’s heart freezing.

“So, the bonding process has started. He had no other options, honestly. And if I have to be bonded to someone, who better than Sherlock Holmes?”

Sherlock turned to look at John with wide eyes. “Thank you, John.”

John nodded his head, but said nothing more. He posted the blog entry and stood from his chair, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m going to lay down for a bit.”

“Angelo’s for dinner?” Sherlock offered and his body lit up as John smiled at him with soft eyes.

“Sounds great.”

Angelo greeted the two men as they entered the restaurant. “My friends. How are you this evening?”

“We’re well, Angelo. The usual spot, if it’s available,” Sherlock smiled as he shook the owners’ hand.

“Of course it’s available. I keep it open in case you stop by, Sherlock. Is it just dinner or are we celebrating something?”

“Dinner,” Sherlock replied as he turned to John.

John shrugged. “I don’t know, Sherlock. Is it wise to keep such information from your friends?”

Angelo raised an eyebrow at the two men, but said nothing as he turned and led them to their usual table. “Wine?”

“Your best, please. Seems we are celebrating tonight,” Sherlock smiled at John.

John smiled back at him as he spoke. “Yes, we’re celebrating the beginning of a bonding courtship.”

Angelo clapped and gave the men a broad smile. “Wonderful! Everything is on the house tonight. Eddie, give these two your entire attention. Bethany can take care of your other tables. We’re having a celebration!”

As John unlocked the door for 221 Baker Street, he let out an annoyed sigh. He turned to Sherlock, who had a questioning brow raised, before turning to the road where a black car was just pulling to a stop.

“Sherlock, can I borrow you for a small while,” Mycroft asked through the now lowered window.

Sherlock looked to John before giving an annoyed sigh and nodding his head. “I’ll be back soon,” he leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his Shifters cheek. 

John blushed and nodded his head before he entered the building and climbed the stairs to their flat. He wondered how long Sherlock would be and decided he’d watch some crap telly while he waited.

“What is going on with the two of you?” Mycroft asked as the car glided through the streets of London.

“I’m not sure what you’re asking, Mycroft. There’s nothing going on with me and John. We’re flat mates and partially bonded. The bonding won’t be completed, I can assure you. He’s not interested in completing it. At least, not at this time.”

Mycroft sighed and looked out the window. “I wouldn’t be so sure that is the case. Dr. Watson is easier for me to read than you. He cares for you deeply. That’s obvious to everyone that comes into contact with the two of you. I don’t understand where the issue is. Why do you not just complete the bonding?”

“It’s not as simple as that, Mycroft,” Sherlock’s voice took on a gruff edge. “I will not do anything without John’s explicit consent. It was bad enough that I had to force the beginning of the bonding process on him while he was Shifted. I won’t force him to complete it. Get that idea out of your head this moment.”

“What is wrong with you, Sherlock?” Mycroft turned from the window to eye his younger brother.

“La douleur exquise,” Sherlock breathed out before he stepped from the car now parked in front of his flat.

Lestrade called the boys to New Scotland Yard in order to go over some cold case files that had been linked to a recent murder investigation that was puzzling the unit. He greeted them with a small smile as they walked through the door to his office without knocking. 

“That’ll be all for now, Donovan. I’ll let you know if I need anything more,” she nodded and stood. As she turned to the door, she noticed Sherlock placing a chaste kiss to John’s cheek, the shorter man blushing slightly when he realized Lestrade was smiling at them.

“Are you sure your Shifter would like you kissing on John’s face like that?” Donovan sneered and John turned to stare at her with an incredulous look on his face.

“Are you really that stupid?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She glared at him. “What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”

John turned to Sherlock who nodded at him. He turned back to Donovan with a small smile on his face before he left the room. Donovan stared after him but no one would tell her what was going on. A scratching at the door had Sherlock turning to open it and in walked the golden furred Dareois. Donovan gasped as she stared at the beautiful creature.

“I think you could do much better than this freak,” Donovan told it, taking a small step back as it let out a low growl. “I could take better care of you, you know.” She knelt and held out a hand to the creature, jerking it back when he snapped at her.

“Dareois will not be going anywhere with you. He chose me, I didn’t choose him, Donovan,” Sherlock told her as he crossed his arms over his chest and Dareois sat beside him. “Dareois is the Shifted form of John Watson.” He had a smug smile on his face as Dareois snorted and Donovan gaped at them.

“No way. I didn’t he could Shift anymore,” Donovan’s voice was low.

“Why? Because he refused to in front of others? He had his reasons. He’s Shifted often in our flat and he’s saved me on more than one occasion. Dareois is my Shifter because he chooses to be.”

“You say he chooses, but you’re the one that forced the bond,” Donovan snarled as she took a step forward. Dareois growled deep and low and Donovan stepped back away from Sherlock, her eyes trained on the beast beside him.

“You really are an idiot,” Lestrade spoke up. “Anyone can see Dareois would not allow someone to force a bond. Even in his human form he’d fight it if he didn’t want it. He may have punished Sherlock for forcing it without his knowledge, but he accepted it just as easily as Dareois did. They both chose Sherlock and there’s nothing you can do about it. You won’t win either of them over, especially with the way you always talk down to Sherlock as though he’s beneath you when, really, you’re just jealous that his methods, while unorthodox, work ten times better than anything you attempt.”

Sherlock stared at Lestrade with wide eyes as Dareois yipped happily and ran his tongue along Lestrade’s palm. He turned to Sherlock and, once he caught his eye, glanced at the door. Sherlock nodded and held the door open for him. A few moments later they were rejoined by a fully clothed John.

He looked at Lestrade with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry ‘bout that, mate.”

Lestrade shook his head before turning back to Donovan. “If you have nothing else to say, Donovan, you’d do well to return to your desk and actually get some work done.”

Donovan stormed from the office without looking back. Sherlock and John stared at each other a moment before turning to Lestrade. “That case?” Sherlock asked and the men sat to go over the files Lestrade had piled on his desk.

When they returned to 221 Baker Street later that afternoon, John decided he’d finally bring up something that had been bothering him. “Why me?” he asked as he turned from the counter where he’d been in the process of making tea.

“I desire redemancy. I long for the reciprocation of the sentiment I feel towards you. Do you understand, John?” Sherlock asked as he turned to face his best friend. He took a deep breath before saying his last piece. “I love you.”

John stared at Sherlock with wide eyes. Not once since losing Master Bill had he felt the desire to be bound to another. He’d had offers, of course. There was Colonel Sebastian Moran, Captain James Adler, Lieutenant Michael Worthington; all great men, but none of them were Sergeant Bill Murray. None of them could compare to the man he’d grown up with, the man he loved with every fiber of his being. Now, here was Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and high functioning sociopath, telling him that the bond they were forced into was not based solely on Sherlock’s desire to not lose the only person that accepted him just as he was. Sherlock loved him; and John wasn’t sure what to think of that.

“Sherlock, I…” John paused and looked to the floor a moment before raising his eyes to Sherlock’s once more. Sherlock could sense that John had come to his final decision. The man had a habit of spending minimal time on decision making and then putting everything he had in backing his final choice. “I would be honored to call you Master,” John moved from the kitchen into the living room and dropped to his knees in front of Sherlock. He looked up to the detective, his eyes set in fierce determination. “Please, Sir, complete the bonding.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La douleur exquise: (n) the heart wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable.


	6. Chapter 6

As hard as he tried to hide it, Sherlock could see the pain in John’s eyes. The man obviously felt as though he was betraying his previous Master by accepting this bonding. Sherlock stared down at John as he knelt before him. He mulled the idea of completing the bond over in his head as his eyes trailed over John’s compact figure. 

“I can’t do this right now, John,” Sherlock sighed as he brought his hands up to his face, rubbing over his eyes in an attempt to lessen the stress of the decision. “You’re not ready for this.”

John lowered his head, his eyes locked on the hard wood floor beneath him. “I can’t protect you properly if we don’t complete the bonding. Besides, Dareois wants this too.”

“He may want it, and he may accept that be able to move on, but you’re not to that point yet, John,” Sherlock pulled his hands from his face and looked down at his Shifter. “John, look at me.”

John looked up at Sherlock, the pain evident on his face. “I want to, Sherlock, I do; but…”

“I understand, John. That’s why we can’t just yet. You need to mourn a while longer. When you’re ready, I’ll be here.”

John gave Sherlock a watery smile as he stood and made his way towards the stairs. “I’m going to go rest for a bit.”

Sherlock nodded and watched him climb the stairs. He threw himself on the couch and let out a long breath. He stared at the ceiling for a moment before pulling his phone from his pocket and sending a text to Mycroft. An hour later, his brother walked through the door, eyes trained on Sherlock’s prone form.

“He’s upstairs,” Sherlock breathed out without opening his eyes.

“Thank you,” Mycroft replied and turned to climb the stairs to John’s room. He knocked and waited for John to open the door.

John stood in the doorway for a moment trying to register that Mycroft Holmes was standing outside his door with a patient smile on his face.

“Hello, John. I’d like to speak with you.”

John stepped back and allowed Mycroft to enter his room. “What can I do for you, Mycroft?”

“He’s concerned about you.”

“Sherlock?”

“Who else?”

“Then why didn’t he just come up to check on me himself?”

“You know how he is about sentiment. He tries, but after Victor, well… let’s just say it’s difficult for him to open up with anyone else.”

“Tell me about Victor.”

“Victor Trevor grew up with Sherlock. He was a wonderful lad, very independent and very loyal, much like you. When they left home for university, Sherlock made a few bad decisions.”

“The drugs?” John asked and slapped his hand over his mouth at Mycroft’s raised brow. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re quite right. Sherlock picked up a nasty drug habit. As hard as Victor and I tried, we couldn’t get him to stop. He’d spend a week in a rehabilitation clinic and then break out and be right back where he started. Victor wouldn’t leave his side. He was very protective of my brother. Sherlock snuck out one night to meet with his dealer. Victor tagged along so he could be there in case anything went wrong. As much as he wanted Sherlock to stop, he knew he couldn’t force it on him. Sherlock had sampled the drugs and was getting ready to make a purchase when the police moved in. They’d been trailing the dealer for a while waiting for him to make his move. The dealer thought Sherlock had set him up and pulled a gun. Victor jumped in front of him just as he fired. He was hit in the chest. By the time emergency personnel had arrived, Victor had died. Sherlock put himself in rehab the next day, as soon as he came down from his high. He’s never forgiven himself. He’ll never forget about Victor, but he’s willing to try this with you. He wants to provide for you, John. Let him be there for you while you mourn Bill Murray. After all, you saved him from himself. The day you met was the eight year anniversary of Victor’s death. You distracted him, kept him from searching for a dealer and me from having to lock him in my house for a week to keep him from spiraling back to that time.”

John stared at Mycroft with wide eyes. He’d known Sherlock had lost Victor and blamed himself, but hearing the entire story behind it opened his eyes to a side of Sherlock he’d never met. “I knew he was strong, but I didn’t realize…”

Mycroft nodded as he stood from his spot on the bed beside John. “Sherlock has learned to bury his emotions. You are the only person that’s gotten close enough in eight years’ time to see that he’s not the sociopath he claims to be. He’s human, he feels. He’s just very good at hiding it.”

John nodded, his eyes trained on the wall across from him. “I’ll need to…”

“Yes, I understand. Take your time, think about what I’ve told you. I’ve no doubt you’ll make the right decision here, John. You need him just as much as he needs you. He is the man that brought back your smile.”

John sat on his bed with his head in his hands as Mycroft left his room and descended the stairs. He entered the living room to see Sherlock sitting up on the couch with his eyes trained on the door. Sherlock raised his eyes to Mycroft’s, the hope visible.

“Give him time. He knows about Victor now. He just needs time to digest the new information.”

Sherlock nodded and, for the first time in a long time, smiled at his brother. “Thank you, Mycroft.”

Mycroft stared at him with a blank expression for a moment before he turned towards the stairs that led down to the street. “Don’t misunderstand, Sherlock. You are my brother. I will do everything in my power to see to your wellbeing, regardless of the consequences to others. You come first, Sherlock.”

Sherlock watched as he stepped out the door and made his way down the stairs. When he heard the front door slam shut, he pulled his phone from his pocket and ordered John’s favorite from the Chinese restaurant down the street. He’d make his way over to pick it up in a short while, for now, he picked up his violin and began to play to song he’d started composing for his flat mate.

John listened as the beautiful sound floated through the flat. It wasn’t a hard decision to make. He wasn’t over Master Murray’s passing. It hadn’t even been a full year yet and their bond had been a strong one. It hurt even more to know that when he was supposed to be protecting his Master, Master Murray had been killed in his attempt to get to John. He couldn’t help but blame himself even though he knew it wasn’t really his fault. Knowing and feeling were two vastly different things.

“John?” his head jerked up and around and he stared at Sherlock who stood in the doorframe, a plastic bag in his hand giving off the most delicious scent. His stomach growled and he blushed as Sherlock let out a low chuckle. “Dinner is here.”

John nodded and followed Sherlock down to the kitchen. He took the bag from Sherlock and set about preparing plates. He set Sherlock’s in front of him, his face set in a determined expression. “You will eat all of it.”

Sherlock looked up at him. “Yes, sir.”

John couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Thank you, Sherlock,” he said as he sat across from his friend. “For everything.” Sherlock nodded and they finished their dinner in silence, Sherlock cleaning his plate.

“John, I really need Sherlock on this one. Can you talk to him? He’s not answering my texts,” Lestrade’s voice floated through the phone and John let out a low groan. It felt like he’d just fallen asleep, though a quick glance at the clock told him he’d actually been asleep for three and a half hours. 

“What have you got? If it’s not at least a seven he won’t go, even for me.”

“Well, I’ll just leave it at it’s skinless.”

John sat straight up in bed, his eyes fixed on the door. “Excuse me?”

“It’s got no skin.”

“We’ll be there soon as we can. Text me the address,” John hung up and climbed out of bed. He rushed around to get dressed and ran down the stairs. As soon as he got to Sherlock’s bedroom door, it opened and a sleep ruffled Sherlock stood there staring at him. “You were actually asleep?”

“What’s all the noise?”

“It’s skinless. Get dressed,” John’s phone pinged and he pulled it out to look at the address. “Hurry, Sherlock. It’s a good one.”

“I know that place,” Sherlock said as he looked at the text on John’s phone.

“Get dressed Sherlock.”

The cab pulled to a stop around the corner from the abandoned hotel. “You sure this is where you want out, mates? Not exactly the time of neighborhood for a posh fella like you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and thrust a hand full of cash at the driver as John climbed out of the cab and held the door for him. “Just around the corner?”

John nodded and led the way, his eyes shifting from side to side as he hunted for any threat to his Master. As they rounded the corner, John noted a movement in a darkened alley and his stance shifted just in time to throw Sherlock to the ground as a large black dog flew past where he’d just been standing. John stood over Sherlock’s body, his stance defensive and threatening all at once. He stared at the creature, eyes locked, for a moment before Sherlock’s hand on his calf brought him back to his senses.

“Roxana, good to see you. Where’s my brother?”

John stared at Sherlock a moment before realization smoothed over his features. He turned to the road, his eyes narrowing on a black car parked a short ways down. He pointed it out to Sherlock who let out a huff and moved towards the car.

“I’ll be back in a moment, John. Please provide Anthea with your coat until she can make it back to the alley to retrieve her clothing.”

John nodded and stripped his coat off to hand to Anthea as Roxana shifted back to her human form.

“Thank you, Dr. Watson. I’ll get it back to you shortly.”

John stood there in the middle of the sidewalk waiting for the return of both Sherlock and Anthea. When she finally returned, she handed his coat back and turned to face the car where both Holmes Masters sat talking. 

“He was testing you,” she said and John nodded his head.

“I figured that out as soon as I realized it was Mycroft. Does he really not trust me?”

“Oh, he trusts you. That’s not the problem. It’s whether or not you’re connected with Dareois enough to properly defend Sherlock that concerns him. You’ve proven his doubts wrong, Dr. Watson. You should be proud.”

“Dareois had nothing to do with that. I’d protect Sherlock with my life with or without his help.”

“I believe you.”

Sherlock stepped out from the car and Anthea moved to take his place. She paused as Sherlock said something to her, but they were just out of John’s range of hearing. When Sherlock made it back to John’s side, he had a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Pompous arse,” he mumbled and John chuckled as they continued their way towards the crime scene.

“Sherlock. Finally,” Lestrade called out as he caught sight of the duo.

“John said something about no skin?”

“Yes, you’ll like this one. Jane Doe, no forms of identification. Thumbprints are impossible, dental identification is impossible; we’ve got nothing to go on.”

“Show me,” Sherlock breathed out, his eyes wide as he took in the information Lestrade provided.

Lestrade ushered Sherlock and John into the abandoned hotel, past a homeless man that sat on a torn apart couch with a small dog on his lap and up a set of stairs to the second floor. The fourth door down from the stairs was guarded by SGT Donovan. When she noticed Sherlock and John behind Lestrade, she turned and walked away from the door in the opposite direction.

“Someone’s butt hurt,” John mumbled under his breath and Sherlock surprised Lestrade by letting out a rather loud laugh.

“Sherlock, this is a crime scene.”

“I would apologize, but that would make me a liar and I make it a point to avoid lying unless it’s beneficial.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes and continued to the room. As soon as they stepped into the room, Sherlock let out a gasp and clapped his hands. “Oh this is wonderful. It’s got to be Christmas. Is it Christmas, John?”

John rolled his eyes. “No, Sherlock. Not for another two months.”

Sherlock turned to Lestrade, his eyes settling just beyond him where Anderson leaned against the far wall. “Do try to not contaminate the scene, Anderson. Wouldn’t want you being framed for a crime you didn’t commit.”

Anderson snorted and left the room mumbling something under his breath that John didn’t catch. He turned and watched as Sherlock moved around the room inspecting everything except for the fleshless body hung on the back wall.

“What have you got so far?” he turned and asked Lestrade as Sherlock continued his own investigation.

“Nothing other than what I’ve already given you. Jane Doe, no skin, no teeth, no hair. We’ve got no way to identify her…”

“Not true,” Sherlock noted from where he was kneeling in a corner and lifting something with a pen he seemed to have acquired out of thin air. “Facial reconstruction. There’s enough tissue left to allow for proper identification.”

Lestrade nodded as John moved to look at Sherlock had found. “Is that?”

“Yes, that is a strip of skin, likely from our victim.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really more of a filler chapter than anything. Let me know what you think.

Jane Doe was eventually identified as Annalise Wood, twenty-seven years of age and attending St. Bartholomew’s Hospital working towards her doctorate. Her dorm mate had reported her missing two days prior to her body’s appearance. She had no living relatives and was very focused on her studies. Briella Draper, the dorm mate, explained that she’d recently started speaking with a man that Briella was never introduced to.

“Anna had been under a lot of stress,” Briella was telling Sherlock. “She’d started sleeping less and she always looked exhausted. She disappeared for two days and I was getting ready to call the police and report her as missing when she reappeared looking better than ever. When I asked her where she’d been, she just said with a friend that had saved her.”

Sherlock nodded as John wrote everything down. “Did you ever see her with this friend?”

“No, but I know she spoke with him over the phone on more than one occasion and she had this book that she took with her everywhere. It was almost like a Bible.”

John’s head snapped up and he looked at the woman closely. “Like a Bible? Would it happen to have had a quote on it, something referring to finding freedom?”

Briella looked at John with wide eyes. “Yes! Something about finding freedom now?” 

“The quest for freedom is never too late regardless of what our present age is. The quest for freedom starts now at this very moment,” Sherlock quoted, catching the attention of both John and Briella.

“That’s it,” Briella exclaimed as she stood from her desk chair. “How did you know?”

“Chapel Hall,” Sherlock turned to look at John who wrote the name down. He turned back to Briella as he continued speaking. “Chapel Hall is an Evangelical cult, though they don’t see themselves as such, which has amassed a congregation of one hundred and seventy-three followers. Their fellowship resides in mass housing along Ealing Road. Really, it’s just several buildings that have been purchased and renovated by Thomas Northrop to provide an apartment complex like atmosphere and prevent his followers from leaving the compound more than absolutely necessary. They are self-sustaining for the most part, only the most trustworthy and loyal allowed to leave the compound to recruit more followers or attend jobs in order to provide an income for the community for things they cannot provide for themselves.”

“You know all of this how?” John asked.

“This isn’t the first time a case has led to Northrop. He always manages to wiggle his way out of my clutches, but not this time. This time I will take him down. The game is on.”

John watched as Sherlock rose from his chair and in a whirlwind of coat and scarf disappeared out the room. He stood there for seven minutes before Sherlock reappeared, staring at him with confusion etched onto his face.

“Are you coming, John?”

“Wasn’t sure I was invited with the way you rushed out of here quicker than I could say ‘synapse’.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re coming. Hurry, we haven’t got all day. I need to get to New Scotland Yard.”

John turned back to Briella and gave her an apologetic smile. “We’ll be in touch.”

“You can’t mean Thomas Northrop,” Lestrade asked incredulously.

“The very same,” Sherlock tilted his head slightly as he looked at Lestrade. “Why is that so difficult to believe?”

“The man has created a self-sustaining community and provides shelter for people that are down on their luck. He’s a public figure loved by millions.”

“He’s a cult leader that will wind up killing millions some day because no one wants to believe he could possibly be guilty of anything more dangerous than lifting a candy bar in his youth. He should be investigated.”

Lestrade dropped his head into his hands and let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll see what I can find, Sherlock. It won’t be easy. He has many high profile personnel in his pocket.”

“I am well aware of his connections. My brother is one of them. I will speak with him tonight.”

John followed Sherlock from Lestrades office and out of Scotland Yard. As they stood by the road waiting for a cab, John turned to Sherlock and studied the man. It had been three days since he’d spoken with Mycroft about Sherlock’s past and he still hadn’t come to a decision. Never had he thought so hard on something. 

“Something on your mind?” Sherlock asked, pulling John from his reverie.

“I’ve decided,” John replied as he turned to the cab that was just pulling to the curb. He opened the door and ushered Sherlock into it, climbing in right on his heels to prevent another kidnapping. Sherlock gave the driver their address and turned to John.

“Decided?” Sherlock asked.

“You know what I’m referring to, Sherlock,” John sighed as he turned his whole body to face his friend. “I’m ready, Sherlock,” he held his hand up to stop Sherlock’s remark. “No, I’m not over Master Murray’s death; but you’re not over Victor’s either. I’m ready for this because I know that you need me just as much as I need you, Sherlock. I’ve given this plenty of thought. Please do not question me.”

Sherlock stared at John for a moment before nodding and turning away from him. They would talk more on the matter later. For now, he needed to contact Mycroft and research Thomas Northrop some more.

“You can’t be serious, Sherlock. Thomas Northrop is a very influential man. I must insist that you cease this line of inquiry at once.”

“I cannot do that, Mycroft. In addition to the case, John would be very unhappy if I were to stop investigating to save you face.”

“Of course. We all know the worst thing a Master can do is upset his or her Shifter.”

“Precisely,” Mycroft turned, his mouth open to reply and stopped short when he noted the smug look flashing across Sherlock’s face. “This is not the first murder I have been able to link to Thomas Northrop’s cult and I will not allow it to be buried like the previous three. I will find every ounce of evidence necessary to condemn the man.”

Mycroft sighed. “I cannot support this endeavor.”

“I do not need your support, Mycroft. I merely need you to not interfere in any way.”

“I cannot guarantee anything. I only follow orders, Sherlock. You know this.”

Sherlock slammed the door behind him as he entered 221 Baker Street. By the time he reached the top of the stairs John was at the door to the flat. Sherlock paused at the top of the stairs and stared at him for a moment before a soft smile spread across his lips.

“Welcome home,” John smiled at him as he pulled the door wider.

“That’s actually quite nice,” Sherlock replied as he entered their flat and removed his Belstaff. John took the Belstaff and scarf from him, hanging them on the hook by the door, before ushering Sherlock to the couch where a steaming cup of tea awaited him. Sherlock turned to him, a brow raised in question.

“I asked Anthea to inform me when you left Mycroft’s and Angelo said he’d have Eddie deliver our usual within the hour.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“What else? I’m attempting to seduce you,” John had said it with such a serious face that Sherlock found himself choking on a sip of tea. He stared up at John with wide eyes for a moment before the smaller manner caved and doubled over in laughter. “You should have seen your face, Sherlock. That was perfect.”

Sherlock huffed and crossed his arms over his chest as he threw himself back on the couch. “That was not amusing, John.”

“Of course it was. It was hilarious.”

“No, it was not.”

“Yes, it was,” John sing-songed and Sherlock grit his teeth.

“Was not.”

“Was too.”

“Was not, John. Cease this childish behavior at once.”

John just continued to laugh at Sherlock’s pouting form as he made his way into the kitchen for another cup of tea. “Eddie will be here in about forty-five minutes, though. You really don’t know what today is?”

“What is it?”

“It’s been a year, Sherlock.”

“Since?” John stared at Sherlock in silence until realization dawned on his face. “Has it really been that long already?”

John nodded, a smile stretching across his face. “I’ve chilled a bottle of your favorite wine for us to have with dinner and I expect you to clean your entire plate, Sherlock. I will not tolerate you eating like a bird.”

“I do not eat like a bird,” Sherlock huffed indignantly.

“Of course not, Sherlock. A bird eats more than you do. Please, for me?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. “Very well. We’ll add this to your tab.”

“My tab?”

“Of course, the tab of things you owe me for,” Sherlock smirked and John laughed.

“Right, of course.”


	8. Chapter 8

“He’s had dealings with several high profile government officials, true, but he’s also been spotted meeting with some high profile criminals as well. Of course, this has all been covered up because of his friends in high places,” Lestrade explained as Sherlock and John looked over the files he’d handed them as soon as he’d entered their flat. “This guy has his hand in so many pots he’ll never go hungry again.”

“As I had said before, he’s not as innocent as everyone claims him to be. Do you believe me now?” Sherlock looked up at Lestrade for a moment before returning to his reading. “This Moran fellow. Why does his name sound so familiar?”

John’s head jerked up and around to look wide-eyed at Sherlock. “First name?”

“He’s on page seven, John. Sebastian Moran.”

John flipped to the correct page and his stomach churned as he looked at the picture provided. The man that had saved his life in Afghanistan stared back at him out of the black and white photo. “God, no. I don’t know if I can get any more involved in this one, Sherlock.”

“An acquaintance?”

“Of sorts.”

“Pity. It’ll be more dangerous without my Shifter, but very well.”

“Wait, you mean you’re still going to pursue this even without me there to back you up?”

Sherlock looked at John as if he’d lost his mind. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Sherlock, you can’t do stuff like this. I’m here to protect you, not to sit back as you go running off to your death…”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and cut John off. “I’d hardly call it running off to my death, John. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. I did so for eight years before I met you.”

“Don’t start this with me, Sherlock. You will not go running off by yourself. I will not lose another Master when I’ve only just got him. I can’t.”

Neither man paid any mind as Lestrade slowly stood from the couch and made his way out the door to their flat. They sat in their respective chairs, eyes trained on each other. John’s breathing was harsh, his heart pounding in his chest as his mind flashed through several scenarios resulting in the death of one Sherlock Holmes.

“John?” Sherlock breathed and John’s attention snapped back to the room he sat in. “I would never… I mean, not intentionally.”

“But that’s just it, Sherlock. Whether it’s intentional or not, either you or I always end up in a situation that could get either of us killed. It’s why we work so well together. Neither of us wants to lose the other, and you can’t deny that. You’ve already told me twice that it’s true.” Sherlock nodded his head in acknowledgement. “I can’t allow you to do this alone. If you insist on continuing with this case, I’ll be right there with you. I’ll do my best to not let Colonel Moran’s presence affect my judgment.”

“That’s all I ask.”

John nodded once, twice and stood to make his way into the kitchen. “Tea?” he asked over his shoulder and sighed when Sherlock merely hummed in reply.

“John,” Sherlock’s breath coasted over John’s nape and he dropped the kettle into the sink as a surprised gasp escaped from between his lips. “Were you serious when you said that you wanted to go through with this?”

John turned to look up at Sherlock who stood just on the safe side of too close. “I’ve never been more serious.”

Sherlock hummed a happy little tune, a soft smile playing at the corner of his lips. He leaned forward a bit, stopping when their lips where just a hairs breadth away from touching. He looked up, capturing John’s hazel eyes with his ice blue. John let out a whimper as he pressed forward, their lips meeting in a fiery kiss. 

“Oh!” they broke apart, John nearly climbing onto the counter behind him in his attempt to put space between their bodies. They turned to the door, eyes settling on a flushed Mrs. Hudson who held a quivering tray of tea and chocolate hobnobs in her hands. “Oh, wonderful! It’s about time, boys. I apologize for the interruption, but I thought you could use a spot of tea. I’ll just leave it here,” she set the tray down on the coffee table and left without another word. 

John turned to look at Sherlock who had already turned to look at him. As soon as their eyes connected, both men broke out in a fit of giggles. Sherlock leaned forward, brushing his lips over John’s forehead. “Let’s have some tea, then.”

“Lestrade?” John’s sleep-gruff voice had Sherlock snapping his head to the stairs where he stood rubbing his eyes in pajama pants and an open robe.

Sherlock swallowed as his eyes roamed John’s bared chest, tracing over the scar in his shoulder. “Yes,” he cleared his throat and picked up his tea cup to take a sip before continuing. “They’ve found another body. This one was thrown in with a muscular tissue exhibit at Hunterian.”

“The surgeon’s college museum?” John asked as he stepped down from the bottom stair and made his way to the kettle. He checked it was still hot and poured himself a cup of tea before making his way back to his chair and sitting across from Sherlock.

“Yes, that one,” Sherlock nodded as his eyes shifted to the file he had open on the table in front of him. He was still reading up on Sebastian Moran. He’d asked Mycroft for a more detailed file on the retired Army sniper and Medical Master.

“What’s that?” John asked as he leaned forward to try and get a better look.

Sherlock sighed as he looked up at John. “This is a detailed history for Colonel Sebastian Moran, retired Army Medical Master.”

“And sniper,” John pointed out. “If that’s a detailed history then you have to know he was a sniper as well.”

Sherlock nodded as he looked back down to the file. “I wanted to know more.”

“And you didn’t think to just ask?”

“I didn’t know if it would be appropriate.”

“Why wouldn’t it? It’s not like he ever meant anything more to me than saving my life. You’re the one that saved my sanity, you saved me. He saved the body, you saved the soul, Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked up at John, processing the words. It was true. Sebastian Moran saved John’s life, but he was miserable until that first case they took together. That’s when John Watson came back to life and Sherlock provided that glorious, adventure-filled world to him. He smiled at his Shifter. His phone pinged and he grabbed it from the table by the file.

“Time to get dressed and head out. Anderson’s finally finished whining about me being called in.”

John laughed as he stood from his chair. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s temple. “I’ll be back down in a few.”

Sherlock watched him turn and climb the stairs to his room. He didn’t need to dress, he’d been up for three hours already, ready and waiting for the notice he was needed on scene. When John returned to the living room, Sherlock stared up at him for a moment before voicing the question he’d considered the moment John had pressed the kiss to his head.

“Why don’t you move your things to my room tonight?”

John froze, his eyes trained on Sherlock and opened wide in surprise. “You’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I weren’t sure.”

John shrugged. “That’s true enough. Alright, then. I’ll start on that as soon as we get home, if I’m not too tired.” Sherlock nodded and followed John down the stairs and out the door.

“What are you doing here?” Donovan sneered as Sherlock and John made their way to the police line.

“What do you think I’m doing here, Donovan? Surely even your miniscule intellect can figure that one out.”

Donovan rolled her eyes and turned her back on the taller man. She trained her sights on John Watson who immediately glared at her. “I wouldn’t open that mouth if you’re planning to insult him in any way.” She huffed and turned away from him as well. John glanced to Sherlock out of the corner of his eye and couldn’t stop the smiled from stretching across his face as he noted the smug, proud smile that Sherlock was aiming his way. He’d done that. He’d made Sherlock proud.

“Come along, John,” and John nodded and followed, his senses taking in everything around them as he covered his Master’s back, his blindside.

“You’ve finally made it.”

“Well, you did wake John up, Gino.”

“It’s Greg.”

“Of course, Gavin.”

“No, Sherlock…”

“Now he’s just messing with you, Greg. Just show us the body.”

Lestrade sighed and rolled his eyes as he turned and lead the two into the museum and through to the human musculature exhibit. A woman’s skinless body lay prone, encased in glass and positioned to mimic the wax figures that surrounded her.

“Clara Oswald,” Lestrade started and John heard nothing after that. He could see Lestrade’s and Sherlock’s lips moving, but he couldn’t hear a sound, couldn’t move a muscle; his entire world froze.

Sherlock watched as John seemed to come to a complete standstill as soon as the victim’s name left Lestrade’s mouth. Something wasn’t right. What was it? Ah. Clara Oswald, Master, married to John’s sister and the Shifter of Master Oswald, Harriet Watson. This could be bad.

“That’s enough,” Sherlock cut Lestrade off, earning a confused glance before his eyes settled on John.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“If this is who I think it is, then it’s his sisters Master and wife.”

“Oh,” Lestrade replied, his eyes widening slightly. “Oh, Christ. Someone get him out of here.”

“No, no. That won’t do. He’ll want to be close to me. If something’s happened to Clara, then there’s no doubt his sister is in trouble as well,” John’s head snapped around to Sherlock, his eyes wide and pleading as he snuggled his entire body into Sherlock’s long, slender frame. Sherlock raised his eyes to Lestrade’s as if to say ‘do you see what I mean’. “I won’t be able to go over the scene with him needing to be so near me, so do try and keep your people from contaminating it worse than that PC over there who seems to be okay enough to eat a bag of crisps.”

Lestrade turned to the PC in question and barked, “Oi! What the devil do you think you’re doing? Put that away. Show some respect, yeah?” He turned back to Sherlock and John. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Tea would be nice, as unprofessional as it may be. I need to calm him down. There’s no telling when we’ll get word on Harriet, if we even do,” John whimpered and buried his head further into Sherlock’s coat. “I need him calm so I can go over the scene and see what I can gather from it. John, I need to start my investigation so I can find who did this, yeah?” John nodded, rubbing his cheek into Sherlock’s coat a moment more before pulling away and looking up at him with pleading eyes. “I’ll find who did this, I promise. Why don’t you go try to call Harriet?” John nodded and walked out of the room while Sherlock turned back to Lestrade. “This has just gotten personal. I figured it would as soon as I realized Sebastian Moran has a history with John, but I didn’t think it would include his sister.”

Lestrade nodded as he watched John through the glass doors that lead to the museum. “Is he going to be okay?” A PC walked up to John with a Styrofoam cup of tea and nodded in reply to whatever John had said. John turned towards them, raising the cup for a moment before returning his attention to his mobile. 

“I’ll make sure he is.”

“Let me know if I can help in any way, yeah?”

Sherlock nodded and turned his full attention to the investigation. Sebastian Moran was attacking his John Watson. No one touched what belonged to Sherlock Holmes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost over. Just another chapter or two.

John watched through the glass doors of the museum as Sherlock inspected the body and casing. The phone pressed to his ear rang three times before it was answered and a sobbing Harriet could be heard in the background under harsh breathing.

“Johnny boy,” John cringed as Sebastian’s voice curled through the phone.

“What do you want?” he kept his voice low so the officers around him couldn’t hear what he said.

“What else? I told you I’d make you mine one day, Johnny. You can either get into the car or say goodbye to your darling sister.”

John turned to the road and noted the small silver car there. “Will you let Harry go?”

“Just as soon as I have you, I give you my word.”

“Fine. Let her go and I’ll get in the car. Don’t think you’ll get away with this, though. Sherlock will find me.”

“Yes, he may, but by then you’ll be bonded to me and there will be nothing he can do about it.”

“Why me?”

Laughter floated through the phone causing John’s stomach to churn. “Because, Dr. Watson, Sherlock wants you and I’m rather tired of him always getting what he wants. First Victor and now you.”

“You knew Victor?”

“We’ll talk about that later, John. Now, get in the car.”

The phone disconnected and John turned to cast one more look at Sherlock before he hurried under the police line and to the car. He heard the locks disengage as he neared the passenger door and climbed in without looking back.

Sherlock stood at the door, his eyes trained on his Shifter as he climbed into a silver car. He took note of the license number and turned back to Lestrade. “Well, that went faster than I’d anticipated.”

“What?”

Sherlock’s phone pinged and he checked the text from his brother, his face morphing into realization and annoyance. “Moran has made his move. Thanks to Mycroft I’ve finally figured out why his name sounded so familiar. It had nothing to do with John. Sebastian Moran made several attempts throughout our teens and early twenties to snatch Victor away from me, but he never would leave my side. The only reason it stopped is because Victor died and Sebastian joined the military, apparently. Now he’s seeking his revenge against me by trying to get to John.”

“Where is John?”

“Gone to see Sebastian, I assume.”

“And you just let him?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. John will be perfectly safe. I’ve already texted Mycroft the license number for the car and he’s got Anthea, or Roxana I should say, tracking John’s movements. He won’t come to any harm and I’ll have time to finish gathering everything I need. Moran ties in with Northrop. I’ve finally got a case that he can’t have buried in paperwork. This is marvelous.”

“Sometimes I want to punch you.”

“Yes, everyone does. Even John.”

“Brother, do you know where your Shifter is?” Mycroft asked as he leaned against the black car outside the Huntarian.

“That’s what Roxana was supposed to be keeping tabs on,” Sherlock glared at Mycroft as he came to a standstill in front of him. “Has she lost him already?”

“No, not at all. I was just wondering if you’d completed the bonding and could communicate with him.”

“You know that only works with true bonds. You got lucky with Anthea. From a well-to-do family and your true bond. Not all of us could be so lucky. I didn’t have that with Victor.”

“That’s true, but you never know. John could be your true bond.”

“It’s rare to find your true bond, Mycroft. You know this. Now, are we going to stand here arguing over irrelevant points or are you going to take me to John?”

Mycroft sighed and turned back to the car. Once both men were seated, Mycroft turned to his brother once more. “You do know Moran is planning to force a bonding with John, don’t you?”

“Of course, why else would he take him? I’m sure John is aware of this and was before he decided to get into that car.”

“He’s a very loyal man.”

“He is,” the remainder of the drive was taken in silence.

Sherlock stared at the two story brownstone across the street from where Mycroft had dropped him off. John was in there, as were Sebastian Moran and Harriet Watson. The door opened and, to Sherlock’s surprise, Harriet walked out. Her face was streaked with tear stains and her shirt was a little worse for the wear, but otherwise she looked unharmed. That was how Sebastian was able to get John to come to him without a fight. She looked up and locked eyes with him a moment before hurrying across the street to where he stood.

“Sherlock, thank God. Please, you have to help him. That man’s trying to force a bond…”

“I’m well aware of what is happening in there, Harriet, but I cannot make my move yet.”

“What do you mean you can’t make your move? Are you going to just stand here while that beast of a man rapes my brother?”

“That won’t happen. In another moment or two I’ll receive the message I’m waiting for and then I can go get him. Until then, my hands are tied. If I try anything before I get this message, everything falls apart and Sebastian Moran gets away free and clear.”

Harriet stared at Sherlock with wide eyes for a moment before her shoulders slumped. “You better know what you’re doing. If he comes to any harm I’ll kill you.”

“Of course,” Sherlock’s phone pinged and he check the message. “Time to go. Why don’t you go grab a coffee at the café down the street and wait for us there? We’ll only be a few minutes.” Sherlock handed her his coat and a bit of money and shooed her on her way before turning back to the brownstone. “Here goes nothing,” he breathed as he made his way across the street.

“Ah, Sherlock. So glad you could join us,” Sebastian grunted as he held a bare John beneath him. Sherlock could see the cuts and bruising along his torso and arms and his blood boiled. “We have ourselves an audience, Johnny boy. Let’s make this good, shall we?” Sebastian breathed into John’s ear before snaking his tongue out to lick along the shell.

“It would be wise of you to remove yourself from his person immediately,” Sherlock threatened. His eyes remained trained on John’s pleading hazel orbs, a silent ‘it’s going to be okay’ sent to his shivering Shifter.

“Oh, and what will you do if I don’t?” Sebastian sneered, making the mistake of turning from John.

“It’s not what I’ll do that you should be worried about. It’s Dareois.”

“Who’s Dareois?”

Sherlock let out a bark of laughter before connecting his eyes with John’s once more, smiling smugly when he noted the change in the shape of his pupils. “You’ll see soon enough. Dare, why don’t you come out and show this man what you can do?”

Sebastian was thrown from John with such force his head connected with the wall on the opposite side of the room. He groaned and pulled himself to his feet, letting out a gasp as he took in Dareois’ form where John Watson had just been.

“You called him out? I didn’t think you’d bonded.”

“The bond is not complete, but Dareois would respond to me regardless. We don’t have to be bonded to communicate. How do you think I found you so fast?”

Sebastian snarled as he turned on Sherlock and pulled a gun from under his shirt. “You idiot. You freak of nature,” he raised the gun, his finger twitching on the trigger. He squeezed minutely, but before he could get the shot off Dareois was on top of him.

“Don’t kill him, Dare. We need him to put away Northrop.”

Dareois let out a snarl as he clamped down on Sebastian’s arm and shook, dislocating the shoulder and causing him to drop the gun. Sherlock knelt down and, using a strip of cloth he’d found the vaguely resembled the hunter grey jumper had been wearing earlier that day, picked it up just as Lestrade burst through the front door.

“Ah, Lestrade. Here you go. This was used to threaten me and John will need some clothes seeing as Mr. Moran here decided to divest him of what he was wearing ealier before I had the opportunity to arrive.”

“You mean?” Lestrade stared at him a moment before he shivered and pulled his trench coat off and held it out to John’s naked figure. “Here you go, mate. You and Sherlock head out to the cars. We’ll take it from here.”

“Oh, and Lestrade, if you check the second room to the right on the second floor you’ll find everything you need to link Mr. Moran’s actions with Annalise and Clara to three other similar murders and to orders from Mr. Thomas Northrop. You’ve got your case closed and everything you need to put them both away for life right here in this house. Do try to not mess it up. Mycroft is already informed of the situation.”


	10. Chapter 10

John struggled to keep his eyes open as he climbed the seventeen stairs to the flat. Sherlock stopped to watch him at the foot of the stairs, his eyes trained on the scrub clad bum before him. John paused at the top of the stairs and turned back to him with an eyebrow raised.

“You coming?”

“Not yet,” Sherlock replied with a cheeky smile.

John let out a soft chuckle as he shook his head and continued on his way into the flat. “I think I’ll wait until tomorrow to move my stuff, Sherlock. I’m going to have a nice, hot shower, climb in bed and pass out.”

“Hmmm, that sounds nice. Mind if I join you?”

John stared at him for a moment before shaking his head and turning towards the bathroom. “Not at all. Come on.”

John turned the knobs and set the temperature of the water as Sherlock stripped down to his fitted silk boxers. When John turned, he froze, his eyes drinking in the flawless, creamy skin on display. Sherlock smiled and reached forward, his fingers twisting into the bottom hem of the scrub top and pulling it up. John raised his arms and allowed Sherlock to pull the top over his head and toss it to the floor beside his own pile of clothing. He raised a brow and motioned towards Sherlock’s boxers as he untied the string holding up the scrub bottoms.

“I haven’t got anything on under these so the least you could do while I take these off is get rid of those.”

Sherlock’s skin flushed a soft shade of pink as his fingers gripped the waistband of his boxers. “I haven’t… since well before Victor passed. He wouldn’t until I got clean.”

John nodded. “I’ve never. Master Murray wanted to wait until our wedding night.”

“So you never really sealed the bond?”

John shook his head as he released his grip on the bottoms and they fell away from his body. He stepped out of them and towards the shower, his hand held out to Sherlock. “Coming in?”

Sherlock swallowed down his nervousness and reached for John’s hand. “Just showering?”

John nodded. “Just showering. I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on causing either of us any more pain today.”

Sherlock chuckled as he thought back to Harriet’s fist colliding with his cheek when she realized that he’d allowed John to endure so much just so he could close a case. She would have hit him again if John hadn’t stepped in and pointed out that he’d have done the same in Sherlock’s position. She’d huffed and stormed away from them. She’d forgive them, eventually, and they’d be there for her as she mourned the loss of her Master.

Sherlock sighed as John lathered a wash cloth and scrubbed it across his back, the fingers of his other hand following along behind it and kneading the flesh. “I’ll pass out here if you don’t stop that.”

John chuckled and handed his the cloth as he turned to scrub himself. They finished their shower, dried off and walked to Sherlock’s room with towels around their waists. “I’m sorry, Sherlock. I’m exhausted.”

Sherlock nodded as he threw himself onto the bed. “Rest, John. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

The last thing John remembered before darkness took him was Sherlock pressing a kiss to his temple and then to his lips.

Sherlock let out a low moan as his back arched off the bed. His eyes popped open and shot down to where John had his lips wrapped around his achingly hard erection, a pleasantly fierce suction pulling the length down his throat where the muscles worked overtime in the most erotic way. “John,” he moaned as his eyes fell shut again and his hands gripped into John’s hair and tugged. John let loose a moan that vibrated down Sherlock’s shaft and right to his tightening balls. “John, please. Inside. I want to be inside you.”

John moaned again as he pulled off Sherlock and straddled his waist. “I’ve already prepared myself.”

“When did you find the time to do that?” Sherlock asked as his hands situated themselves on John’s waist while John guided his cock to his fluttering entrance.

“You’re a surprisingly heavy sleeper, Sherlock. I was at it for ten minutes before you did more than roll your hips and whimper in your sleep.”

Sherlock flushed from embarrassment and let out a low groan as he sank into John’s heat. “God, John. You feel amazing.”

John let out a hiss as he lowered himself inch by inch until his arse cheeks sat flush against Sherlock’s skin. He paused for a few moments before rotating his hips experimentally. Sherlock whimpered, his grip tightening as his hips rolled, pushing his cock further into John’s tight heat and pressing straight into his prostate. John moaned loudly and Sherlock’s hand shot to his mouth to muffle the sound. He didn’t want to wake Mrs. Hudson.

John reached up and pulled his hand away as he smiled down at him. “She left early this morning. Something about a trip to visit her sister.”

Sherlock groaned as his eyes rolled to the back and he lifted John before slamming him back down wringing another groan from both men. “John, please,” he begged and John began to lift and drop himself on his own, his hips twisting and gyrating with each push and pull. He let out a string of curses as Sherlock’s cock slammed into his prostate over and over, their tempo increasing as Sherlock lifted his hips on each of John’s down strokes, pushing himself deeper, harder, faster. Sherlock reached for John’s cock, wrapping his slender fingers around it and pumping it in time with their coupling. John let out a long, drawn out moan as his hips began to stutter and Sherlock hummed in pleasure as he felt his orgasm bloom and shoot through his entire system. His vision whited and he was only aware of the pleasure rushing through him and the splash of warmth on his chest and stomach, the clenching of John’s walls as he milked him through the final throws of their passion.

As they came down from the sexual high, John maneuvered himself to lay beside Sherlock on the bed. He twisted until he could reach the towel he’d thrown to the side when he’d woken up and turned back to clean off Sherlock’s torso. As he lay back and Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into his chest, he could feel the final strands of the bond settling into place. 

'John,' Sherlock thought and John’s head jerked up to look at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“You didn’t say that out loud, did you?”

“Say what?”

“My name.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Think something else,” John pulled himself up into a sitting position.

“Okay,” Sherlock mumbled as he pulled himself up as well. He stared intently at John’s face as he thought ‘I love you’ and couldn’t help the flush of excitement when the small man’s entire body lit up and seemed to vibrate with excitement. Then he noticed it. It was hard to hear at first but the more he focused on it the clearer it became. 

‘I love you too, Master.’


End file.
